


Christmas.

by Plutomutt



Category: Taxi (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Christmas Party, Dancing, F/M, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Freeform, Metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28427040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plutomutt/pseuds/Plutomutt
Summary: This is just a short first and third person character study of a self insert and Louie De Palma.You're at a Sunshine Cab Company Christmas party and you're drunk and you've just taken a break from dancing..
Relationships: Louie De Palma/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 3





	Christmas.

He's enraptured by you, it seems.

You feel the weight of the alcohol on your mind as you guide yourself breathlessly around the room, a throbbing boneless thing. To you it feels like therapy, to Louie it looks like a language he doesn't speak.  
His tongue and lips mouth the words and phrases you seem to contort outwards, he licks his lips, pensively. Dry.

The song ends, you spiral down from the dizzying heights of your drunken throes and leach to the corner of the room. Sweaty.

Here comes Louie. Well that's a lie, he's lying. He's at the buffet picking obnoxiously at the cheese log, playing with the communal food array and also ignoring you. You watch him stab an almond with the toothpick grasped in one sturdy hand and you feel skewered.

The hot heat of your body feels flushed, shameful so quickly.  
Louie looks across to the wall just in time to catch your eyes with his own and it you feel your stomach drop low into your hips.  
When did you start to feel this way? When did this ever present feeling of sheepishness start to worm it's way into you, a life where a simple glance takes on new meaning. Maybe there isn't an answer and it's best not to think too hard about it.

Louie is walking over to you, sauntering, his gait a gaudy and unearned pomp.

"Hiya sweet cheeks! Enjoying the spread?"

"Hello"  
Your voice comes out too husky and all at once. You've been saying it over and over in your head now, a mantra never meant to be spoken so when it does break free from you it takes on a life of its own.  
"Woah,you hitting the hard stuff already!? Not that I ain't doin the same. Gotta drink the good stuff before the peanut gallery gets to it!"  
He gesterurs towards the people around you, making sure his gesticulations reach everyone but.

"Right? Heh..."  
What a stupid thing to say. Right? Of course he was right, such a stupid thing to say. You sound hauty! What's got you on your high horse tonight!

"So I saw you dancing out there…"  
It's just a statement.  
You realize Louie hasn't been able to hear your racing thoughts and you look him in the eyes to try and understand his motives.  
He's glassy eyed. Drunk? Obviously.  
A pink sheen across his cheeks, he's wearing his "best", the green one with the pinstripes. It's so funny but you can't imagine him wearing anything else.

"Yeah, that was me out there…" great, another zinger.

"Well, you looked really great. If I might say so myself. These other numpties might think they know how to dance, but you could dance all over them!"

Louie giving a compliment is like a fish out of water. Maybe you're a fishbowl.  
Why does he look I'll so suddenly after saying something nice? Why is he so short? Shorter than normal?

"Thank you Louie"

He's a puppy. You say his name and his tail starts to wag. You threw the ball a, he picked it up.

"You ever danced?"

It's the 70s Louie…

"No"

"Me neither! But hey I'm gonna go get some chips anyway"

You're reeling. You put one hand on the wall to steady yourself. Louie De Palma just flirted with you probably. Haha gross.  
Gross…….?

Your heart is pounding, you try to silence it with another martini. The fuckin thing only gets louder.  
Louie can probably hear it by now, over the sound of his plate being filled with ham and cream cheese pinwheels  
Your sweat is cold now, cold like the dream cheese and the ham. You watch Louie stab another hors d'oeuvre with his toothpick and you too feel skewered.


End file.
